Office of the President

New Student Convocation — September 2, 2007

Discover. Serve. Live.

Fewer than one hundred yards north of us stands a sculpture of Abraham Lincoln and John Hay. It guards the main entrance to the campus and proclaims to all observers the College's historic association with the greatest of American presidents.

Carthage erected the memorial 10 years ago to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the College. The title of the sculpture is a "A Learning Moment." It is meant to convey a message directly to you and to all Carthage students.

Upon accepting the commission for the project, sculptor Michael Martino read extensively about Lincoln and Hay, sought to penetrate their minds and souls, and tested their relevance for a college community in the 21st century. None of us at the College wanted a stiff, formal, posed sculpture. We wanted activity, vitality — the human spirit in action. Lincoln's lifelong proclivity for telling folksy, funny, even corny stories struck Mr. Martino as a key to Lincoln's character.

Then, Mr. Martino's mind wandered back to his own college days, and he remembered how some of his favorite professors would wander off-track and tell stories and jokes during their lectures. Mr. Martino realized he still remembered some of the stories even after he had forgotten the formal course material. Then, he understood that the stories actually were making a point, and that during those classroom digressions he had been learning more than he had realized at the moment. So there he had the theme for the Carthage sculpture.

Working as one of Lincoln's two private secretaries in the White House was John Hay, then in his early 20s. Hay eventually would become one of America's greatest Secretaries of State under Presidents William McKinley and Teddy Roosevelt. Like Lincoln, Hay hailed from Springfield, Ill. Lincoln was a benefactor and Trustee of this College in the 1850s and 1860s; a teenage John Hay attended the secondary school attached to the College.

Because Carthage could claim both Lincoln and Hay, Mr. Martino imagined a working session between them in the Civil War White House. Lincoln was supposed to be dictating, but had been reminded of one of his funny stories and had just related it — to his own great amusement. The Carthage sculpture is one of the very few laughing Lincolns you will ever see. Young John Hay does not share the mirth. Who knows how many times he has heard the story already? He might be a little impatient to get on with the work. He might have better plans for his evening than listening to Lincoln's stories. So Mr. Martino entitled his art "A Learning Moment." Mr. Martino theorized that John Hay would remember the story years later, and, in retrospect, would realize he had learned something important.

For Mr. Martino, that is an everyday scene in Carthage classrooms.

* * * * *

Today marks my 21st annual speech welcoming new students to the College. I have been at this longer than most of you have been alive, and have labored, sometimes suffered over each of the texts. A few years ago, our then-teenage sons were kidding me at the dinner table. One asked: "Dad, why do you worry? You say the same thing every year!"

I shot back: "Yes, but the words are different."

Just eight days ago, I was struggling with how to get started, how to present to you this year's Carthage theme, "Discover, Serve, Live." As any of us search for inspiration, it is helpful to return to the basics. The November pages of the new Carthage calendar cite the American Shaker hymn, Simple Gifts. "'Tis a gift to be simple." I reminded myself to be honest, direct, straightforward, authentic. You are my audience. You can smell a rat miles away. If I am to command your respect, I have to be real.

Then, the lights went on. I remembered a superb example of simultaneous profundity and simplicity. It began: "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth, upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that 'all men are created equal.' Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived, and so dedicated can long endure."

You probably recognize the opening of Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. In its entirety, it was fewer than 300 words long. In my teaching days, students frequently asked: "How many pages does this essay you have assigned have to be?" My habitual answer was: "Only as many as you need in order to say what you have to say." The challenge is not to use as many words as possible. Rather, the goal is to know what you think and to say it succinctly.

The real question is: how valid are your thoughts? A person can write clearly only if he or she can think clearly. Lincoln knew what he thought. In just a few minutes, he provided a vision that has inspired generations of Americans unto this day.

Five years ago, on the first anniversary of 9-11, two documents from the American past anchored the ceremonies at Ground Zero honoring those who had died. One was the Declaration of Independence, the other the Gettysburg Address. 1

Back in November 1863, virtually until the last minute, it was not clear that the press of work would allow Lincoln to leave Washington and to travel to Gettysburg for the dedication of the new national cemetery. When the day for his departure arrived, he was late coming out of the White House to get into his carriage for the ride to the train station. His adjutant politely reminded him the trains had to run on time. Lincoln smiled and responded with one of his stories from the Illinois frontier. A man was going to the gallows and saw curious hordes hurrying past him. "Boys, you needn't be in such a hurry to get ahead," he called out to them, "there won't be any fun until I get there." That was vintage Lincoln.

A trip to the Gettysburg battlefield was not unlike a trip to the gallows. A few months earlier thousands had died there, many thousands more had been wounded terribly. Suffering was everywhere in the weeks after the battle. One young wife came in search of her husband's body and opened twenty shallow graves in vain. On the twenty-first, she found him. A nurse recounted a scene she had witnessed in one of the makeshift hospitals. In the nurse's own words, she watched a visiting wife "clasping to her bosom a little child of eighteen months," and sitting "for hours with bowed head" next to her gut-shot husband, who was "stupefied with morphine." A "humane" surgeon allowed the drug to ease . . . The soldier whispered, 'Oh! Mary, are you here?' His groans were terrible to hear, and in mercy he was again given the opiate, and slept his life out..." 2

In framing his speech, Lincoln confronted twin responsibilities. He must honor the dead. And he must explain to the living why the war had to continue. As we heard, he opened with the themes of liberty and equality. A short while later, he closed with this challenge: "that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom, and that this government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth." Well, this may seem like heavy stuff for your first day of college. Fortunately, there is more to the story. Lincoln had his own political purposes for going to Gettysburg. He faced re-election within a year. He had many enemies. It was by no means clear he could win. Pennsylvania was a crucial swing state. Lincoln invited governors, senators, Cabinet members, generals, and ambassadors to the dedication. He was mobilizing political support. And he bantered with the folks who collected at the train stations in the little towns along the way. From his debating days in Illinois, he knew how to play a crowd. His folksy, down-home style endeared him to many, even as his critics accused him of flippancy.

The scene at Gettysburg was boisterous, even riotous the evening before the dedication. Crowds collected by the house where Lincoln was staying, calling for him to come out and speak. Concerning one encounter, young John Hay wrote in his diary: "The President appeared at the door, said his half dozen words meaning nothing & went in." But Lincoln knew he did not have to say something serious every time he opened his mouth; he knew people would respond to a president they thought was one of them. John Hay would learn that soon enough.

In the carnival atmosphere at Gettysburg, vendors set up stands along the streets selling, to quote an observer, "grape-shot, solid balls, and shell of all shapes." For a price, you could possess your own personal souvenir of the battle.

Hay worked hard for Lincoln. Looking after the politicians meant getting some of them whiskey while keeping them out of trouble. Managing the press meant getting the right stories in the right newspapers. (If you are curious, there is a lot more detail in Hay's diary.) With all the irreverence of his 25 years, Hay referred to Lincoln as "the Presdt" and "the Tycoon." While harboring affection and respect for the President, Hay still had a life of his own. The evening before the dedication, Hay went out and partied long and hard with students at Gettysburg College. The next morning, Lincoln was still working, still trying to get those 272 words in the Gettysburg Address just right, only hours before he was to deliver them. His two private secretaries were with him, and the copy from which Lincoln most likely spoke has become known as the Hay draft. Hay had let off steam with all the others, but the next morning he was smart and serious when he needed to be. Hay would remain in the White House until Lincoln died. Then ensued a 40-year career as a journalist, author, and ambassador. Hay's last years were spent as Secretary of State; like Lincoln, he died in office. From 1898 to 1905, he guided the country's foreign policy in the years we were emerging as a world power. Our claim to the Philippines after the Spanish-American war, the Open Door in China, the treaties and agreements enabling the construction of the Panama Canal - all these, and more, grew from the work of John Hay. Like Lincoln, Hay discovered, he served, he lived.

To be sure, each of them discovered, served, and lived in his own way. Each of us unfolds our lives in our own way. There are productive ways yielding happiness. There are destructive ways yielding disappointment. Lincoln was a self-educated man. He had to depend on himself as he discovered the larger world. Hay had the advantage of a formal education, beginning at Carthage's predecessor institution. Lincoln faced repeated frustration in his quest for public service. He lost elections more than he won. Beginning in the White House in his early 20s, Hay served in one important job after another.

But did they live? Oh, yes, they lived. Action-packed lives. Lives that made the world better. They had their fun, and that was crucial, but their days were not pure pleasure. At Gettysburg, Lincoln wore on his hat a black mourning band grieving the death of his son a few months earlier. While he worked on the Gettysburg Address, he received a telegram from his wife, Mary, in the White House. She informed him about the doctor's visit to another son who lay ill. And, as Lincoln delivered his speech, he had to look into the faces of the wives, children, and parents who had lost loved ones at Gettysburg. At that moment, Lincoln was alive as never before. His own words show us that. He had discovered; he was serving.

All of that was open, in plain view, for young Hay to discover. All Hay had to do was open his eyes, his mind, his heart.

* * * * *

As Mr. Martino was casting the bronze figures of Abraham Lincoln and John Hay, he initially intended to name his sculpture, "A Teaching Moment." After deliberation, however, he realized that the focus of the Carthage faculty is on the student. The scene between Lincoln and Hay therefore became "A Learning Moment." Likewise, in this speech, I have tried to use your awareness of Lincoln to focus your attention on Hay. He was learning from Lincoln's stories, politicking, and bantering with the crowds, just as surely as from the Gettysburg Address. Life on a college campus is a 24/7 experience. Your life will be one of constant discovery. But, to what end? How will you make any sense of all that happens to you? Let me leave you with a question to ponder during your college years. Only you can answer it. No one else. Ask yourself, everyday: how do I know I am living a good life? This year's Carthage theme - Discover, Serve, Live - suggests that learning, and then putting knowledge and skills to good use, constitute effective living. Discover. Serve. Live. I have suggested a model for you. John Hay, once a student at Carthage. Just like you.

Welcome to Carthage.

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1 Much of the information about Lincoln and Gettysburg comes from Gabor Boritt, The Gettysburg Gospel (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006). Mr. Campbell thanks Dr. Rolf Wegenke, President of the Wisconsin Association of Independent Colleges and Universities, for giving him a copy of the book.

2 Boritt, The Gettysburg Gospel, p. 15